


Frigophobia

by fireflysglow_archivist



Category: Firefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-15
Updated: 2006-06-15
Packaged: 2019-04-29 13:25:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14473683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireflysglow_archivist/pseuds/fireflysglow_archivist
Summary: Malcolm Reynolds hates and fears the cold, and doesn't want anyone to know. Frigophobia, Simon called it. So what happens when, one by one, the crew finds out?





	Frigophobia

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Firefly’s Glow](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Firefly%27s_Glow), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Firefly's Glow collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/fireflysglow/profile).

Frigophobia

## Frigophobia

Malcolm Reynolds hated and feared the cold. 

A strange fear for a Captain of an intergalactic transport ship to have, perhaps -acknowledging the unavoidable fact that space itself was never warm- yet one that he secretly nursed all the same. 

Understandably this occasionally put a cramp in his business ventures. His line of work occured in all climes, after all, and he had no business turning down work, honest or not, that kept Serenity in the sky. Still, it was a rare day when Malcolm Reynolds willingly set foot on a world when it was snowing, and that hadn't seemed to hurt their income much. Yet. 

It was also a concern on Serenity herself. Usually that wasn't a concern when Serenity was running smoothly, one he could bury in a corner of his mind and forget, as the life support conveniently included generating warmth among its many talents. But when things didn't go smooth, when something went wrong, the compression coil incident being a notable example, it got cold. Quickly. 

He wasn't exactly sure when it had started, as it seemed to be one of those things that wormed its way into the psyche without invitation. It had certainly gotten its start from his homeworld, Shadow, if he had to pinpoint it, though. Shadow was one of those places the suns had taken a personal liking to, and the temperature had rarely fallen below eighty degrees. 

His first experience with the cold was when he'd left Shadow's atmo to join the Independent army in his early twenties. The ship he'd been on, a large transport class, had had large windows, and he'd been able to see literally see his horizons expand to the point of infinity. He'd instantly fallen in love. The chill that had steadily worked its way into his bones, however, he'd been less enamored of. In point of fact, he'd been downright petrified. 

His fear -Simon had some a fancy doctorin' term for it, Frigophobia- had an inconvenient habit of rousing itself at those times, not that he would ever admit to fearing it, of course. 

Malcolm hadn't been keen on his crew finding out. Not only was it somewhat of a delicate subject for him, he was never especially keen on talking about such things, and he'd learned the hard way that it was better to keep silent about your weaknesses. In any case, no one was `specially keen on hearing about it, most especially not from him. 

He had a habit of getting himself and the crew into situations he couldn't always predict or control, and the crew needed him to be secure, unflaggable, and admitting to such a thing was not the best way to keep such an image firmly ingrained. Unfortunately for his image, he had no need to admit it. It was a small ship, inhabited by a very sharp crew- it was obvious to anyone who cared to look. 

Zoe, of course, had known for years. Almost an impossibility for her not to know, really, them sharing what they had. His second in command had discovered it, at least as far as he knew, when they were burying the dead from one of the smaller skirmishes of Serenity Valley in a single mass grave. She'd noticed that his shoveling efforts had halted, the sergeant simply staring straight ahead and shuddering like he had taken sick. 

It probably didn't help matters that he associated death with the cold. Always had. It was, he supposed, one of those ironic metaphors the `verse threw at him. 

In any event, she'd kept an even closer eye on him than usual, and, as if the 'verse was laughing at him, one of his wounds had gotten infected and he'd developed a fever. Apparently it rose quite high, and he'd gotten delerious, taken to talking to nobody Zoe could see. At one point, she'd said in that calm way Zoe had, he'd begun to rave about the cold, how it would kill him, drag him down with those poor souls in the mass graves. 

After he'd recovered he'd asked her what he'd said while delerious, and she'd told him straight out, as always. For a little while he'd worried that she would tell someone. This was too personal, too shameful, for outsiders to know about. He'd underestimated the strength of Zoe's respect for privacy, however. The reticent woman had always been the private type, and had never said a word to anyone about it, even Wash. 

Simon had been the second to take notice. The doctor had noticed that Mal always wore his battered duster while planetside, and, failing that, wore multiple layers if there was the slightest chance of a chill. Naturally the doctor had accused Mal of being a frigophobic, to which Mal had responded that it "t'weren't none of his business what a body chose to wear." 

Simon had seemed content to end the conversation that way, had wandered off to find his sister to give her her evening cocktail of medication. That is, until it had been his turn to do the laundry. Normally Mal was meticulously careful about doing his own wash, but River had been in one of her moods that day and had gathered together his dirty laundry. Seeing as it had been his turn to wash them anyway, Simon had done so. 

Simon clearly hadn't been aware of exactly how many layers Mal wore under his coat while on board Serenity for the first hour or so after the engines kicked in and infused the ship with warmth. The man wore at least three shirts (thin ones, obviously, so they'd be practically invisible under his routine clothes), and his blankets (which had remnants of Saffron's perfume on them and had thus Needed a Scrubbing) were lined with synthetic goose down. 

Now, the doctor may not have a way with words, but the man was unnaturally quick to put two an' two together to make four. He had confronted Malcolm about it one night when the others were on shore leave, using words like "therepy", "confronting the issues", and "using medication during panic attacks to calm his nerves". Mal had been just as firm in telling Simon to "get back to his clinic and mind those who need him hoverin' about." In a stroke of unexpected kindness Simon had never mentioned it again, aside from quietly tossing an extra blanket down to Mal's bunk every now and then. 

Book had discovered it rather quickly. Mal wasn't sure if that was because the Shepherd was just naturally intuitive, or that he'd become more obvious about it. Either way, the preacher had found out, though how that had happened the preacher had never seen fit to tell him. One day Book had, during his daily prayers over their dinner, repeated verbatim a psalm about overcoming the devil's cold. Mal had choked on his protein and had needed a few thumps on the back to clear his lungs. After that he'd steered clear of Book for a few days, but the man seemed content to have had his say. 

He'd been certain that Wash had no idea about his fear, until one day he'd ordered Wash to make a course for Persephone one day. "Sure, Mal," he said, "but I hear Persephone's real cold this time of year." 

"What does that matter? Serenity can handle it well enough.." Mal had asked casually, though he couldn't help the way his mouth had tensed into a thin line. 

"Well, it doesn't really matter, I suppose. I just thought you wouldn't." Mal had glanced sharply at the pilot, but Wash had been intently focused on prepping Serenity for departure. Not wanting to distract him and, and not particularly wanting to remind Wash of what he'd potentially said, Mal had left. That had been that. Wash never made another mention of it. 

Kayle and Jayne still didn't know, and he planned on keeping it that way. Jayne just wasn't observant enough to work it out without help, and Mal didn't really know how the mercenary would react if he did. 

He was fairly certain his mechanic didn't know either. Like he had with Jayne, he was careful around her. Little Kaylee had enough things to worry about, she deserved to be happy, not bogged down with his concerns and fears. He preferred her smiling and teasing, even her occasional stubborn sulking at times, to her quiet, sad looks. If Kaylee ever found out, it wouldn't be from him. 

Inara was an uncertainty. She might know, or she might not. The Companion was more concerned with soothing Kaylee's ruffled feelings when Simon made a blunder again, fending off Mal's barbed comments, or dressing River and Kaylee up in pretty clothes and gewgaws. Inara wasn't one to speak of fears and things that hid in the dark. She knew of them, obviously, Companions were trained to read body language. 

She dealt with things that were easier to see and understand, things that others were willing to share. She simply didn't know how to sooth Simon's fear of abandonment or Book's fear of losing the way. So she didn't speak of them. Perhaps hoping they'd go away, perhaps dealing with them when others couldn't see and feel pity. 

River had been surprisingly tactful about it. When he was recovering after the compression coil incident, he had awoken at one point to find himself alone in the clinic save for River, who was staring at him. For several minutes neither of them had said a word, then River smiled and pulled the sick bay's tattered blanket up around his shoulders. "Jack Frost left," she'd told him sternly. "Stop fearing that he'll bite your nose, he only comes when invited. Kaylee's turned the heat up again," she'd added. Then she'd left, whistling a classical tune from Earth-That-Was. 

That was how it went. Malcolm wasn't sure why no one had ever made an issue of it, but he figured they would if he did. That was what his crew did, after all. They supported him when he needed it, and stepped back (most of the time) when he wouldn't appreciate interferance. And he was grateful. Some things didn't need to be said, analyzed and picked over endlessly. Sometimes what went unsaid was more comforting.

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Title:   **Frigophobia**   
Author:   **Taokan**   
Details:   **Standalone**  |  **PG-13**  |  **gen**  |  **9k**  |  **06/15/06**   
Characters:  Malcolm, Zoe, Wash, Kaylee, Inara, Jayne, Simon, River, Book   
Summary:  Malcolm Reynolds hates and fears the cold, and doesn't want anyone to know. Frigophobia, Simon called it. So what happens when, one by one, the crew finds out?   
  



End file.
